


Pray

by ausfil



Category: Westlife
Genre: Angst, Blood, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Confessions, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Kneeling, Love Confessions, M/M, Prayer, Punishment, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Flagellation, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausfil/pseuds/ausfil
Summary: The clock was hitting 3 AM soon, but Shane couldn’t get up. He had been in the church building for at least two hours, on his knees with a whip in his hand.Maybe it would whiten his soul a little. Maybe God would be able to forgive him for the blasphemy of last night, for the black feelings he’d carried for the past thirty-eight years.(POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING. Read the tags.)





	Pray

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Westlife Merry Kinkmas Ficfest, and my randomly generated theme was ‘Religion’. Before you read on, I’m an atheist and I did not mean to offend or disrespect the Catholic religion at all. If something’s really off, feel free to let me know.
> 
> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING. Read the tags.

Shane’s knees ached. Tears fell down his cheeks and covered the same tracks. Angry lines of blood coloured his back. Kneeling for too long in this dark empty church, he felt like his bones would crumble the next second. But he couldn’t get up. He _wouldn’t_ get up.

He’d been here for at least two hours. The clock was hitting 3 AM soon. He looked up at the large wooden cross hung on the wall that shined a light into his heart and crushed it at the same time. He wished to be crushed even more.

“Forgive me, Father…” He mumbled for the hundredth time as he wrapped his hand around the whip again. He shut his eyes. Bit down on his lips that were also starting to draw blood. Heartbeat rose. Shame flooded over his soul as much as tears did.

A punitive lash of the whip cracked on his back, splitting open further inches of skin, hoping sin seeped through it. Maybe it would whiten his soul a little. Maybe God would be able to forgive him for the blasphemy of last night, for the black feelings he’d carried for the past thirty-eight years.

He first realised when he was seventeen. He would never be able to forget it. Didn’t _allow_ himself to forget it. There was a boy who felt a bit more special than the other kids in school. A boy singing like angels in their school play. And every time he smiled, it felt like the rest of the world was black and white. The rest of the world just didn’t matter. There was a flutter in Shane’s heart that didn’t necessarily feel right all the time. He thought it was nothing. Writing it off as some sort of platonic admiration phase, he let it slide away from beneath his feet.

On the final night of the school play, they’d walked home together. Shane remembered every step of that night twenty-one years ago. Footsteps conformed to each other. Under a scatter of shining stars that were nowhere near as bright as a pair of eyes that he stared into. The two boys were talking, laughing, exchanging meaningful looks that Shane tried to avoid but couldn’t with the life of him. He was drawn to those blue eyes that felt like home. _Drawn_ to them, as if he was hypnotised.

Hypnotised by the devil.

They’d reached his house, and before he knew it, a hand caressed Shane’s jaw. He felt warmth clear a path to his deprived heart. Their faces were closer than they’d ever been and within a blink, soft lips hugged his. It was like no other feeling. Liberation lifted him onto the clouds, at least for a few moments. The boy’s lips felt so good on his, like he could drop dead the next minute and not regret a single thing.

But something knocked him in the back of his head. A heavy thought that told him this wasn’t right. That this was despicable. He’d pushed the boy back. The poor thing, confusion and hurt studded on his drooped face as he watched Shane’s eyes leak tears that he knew he caused. But Shane couldn’t take any of that into consideration. Without another word, Shane stumbled inside the house.

When he went up to his room, he had spent the whole night on his knees. Looking up at the same set of stars. Crying. Praying. Begging. Mumbling underneath his breath. In his shaking hands, the rosary beads that he always kept in his pocket. It didn’t do much to clear his conscience.

The next morning, he’d cut himself.

But that hadn’t hurt as much as this whip bleeding his back. Shane supposed it was better that this hurt more. He needed to be hurt. He needed to be cut. He needed to be disciplined, remined that his actions and the shades of his heart were vile in the eyes of the holy.

 _Crack._ He whipped the implement across a series of open wounds, deepening each of them. Because maybe that would reveal his guilt a bit more and God would see. But all it really did was drag his mind back to last night. Shane gripped the leather handle again, knuckles turning white. He felt blood dripping down his back and mark streaks of their own. That did nothing to make him stop the whipping.

Another lash, another hoarse cry echoed through the celestial structure.

Shane believed he’d been good for twenty odd years after that night of immature temptation. After that, he’d only dated girls. Told them he loved them. Told _himself_ he loved them. Tried to keep it enthusiastic; to lead the life that would make God love him again. He did everything he could to shove down the black desires and lock them away.

But he didn’t realise how hard it was to keep that up. It was eating away at him with every excruciating second. He didn’t know who he was anymore, where he belonged. Especially since he came to know a certain pair of blue eyes that melted all his barriers in an instant; reminded him of another pair of blue eyes that made him feel the exact same way all those years ago.

“Hi, my name’s Nicky” was the first sentence that was spoken to him, and that husky tone wrapped around Shane’s throat within seconds. The newcomer in church, just moved to the neighbourhood a couple days ago. Shane had tried not to get close to him. He knew where it could lead – a place that he never wanted to return to. A person whom he never wanted to be again.

But with every smile that reached those divine eyes, it was difficult to remember why. Shane thought if he was lucky enough to ever wake up to those eyes in his lifetime, that would be happiness in itself. So with tippy toes, Shane inched closer to the man. One tiny step every day. Introducing him around the church, to the members, then a cup of coffee together. He was getting bolder by the day. And he couldn’t remember being that happy in a long time. It wasn’t a good thing at all, in hindsight.

A month in, Nicky had invited Shane over to his house for the first time. Just to have dinner. Some takeaway Nandos for a lazy night in with a few episodes of Friends to keep them company. They were on the couch with a cold beer in their hands, falling into the same series of laughter.

“You know, I’m really glad I met you,” Nicky had said out of the blue.

Shane turned to look at his friend, saw eyes that were weighted with something else that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. “Me too,” he’d replied with a smile.

“I wouldn’t have settled in if it weren’t for you.” Nicky looked away for a second, then brought that gaze back with a rise of darkness behind his pupils. Something filled with red want that Shane was sure was behind his own eyes too. “I guess I wanted to say thank you.”

Shane swallowed hard. “My pleasure. Wasn’t a problem.”

Nicky showed a small lopsided smile, almost a twitch, nervous teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Also, I… Nando’s isn’t the real reason I invited you over. I um… I have something I need to tell you.”

“Oh. Is something wrong, or?” Shane knitted in his eyebrows, a tug at his heart that told him everything was wrong.

“Not really. I mean, I guess? I- Fuck. I don’t know. I…” Nicky took a deep breath. Closed his eyes, then opened them, a quiver in the softened corners. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Shane couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His throat clumped, a wet layer glazing over his sight. “Um.” He tried to clear a path to his lungs.

And then…

He hadn’t meant to kiss Nicky back. He really hadn’t. He hadn’t meant to do any of this. But when Nicky leaned in, when the softest lips came to meet his, he couldn’t back away.

He’d spent days and weeks imagining what this would feel like. All those times, he was underestimating it. If this was all he could feel until he had to face the big man up there, he thought he’d do it in a heartbeat.

But the haunting hurt of the past couple decades crept up from the tips of his toes, clawed their way up his legs, up his stomach, throat, leaving scratches just waiting to bleed, before they reached his brain. The slightest thought of sin spread like octopus ink, soon to blacken the whole ocean.

At seventeen years old, he wanted to be bled white. At thirty eight, he was no different.

 _Crack_. He didn’t know how many times he’d whipped himself through the night. He lost count after about sixty and figured the numbers weren’t important. What was important was the ripping of his skin – arduous and blissful at the same time, the sound of his own cries, the pardon and love that he’d hoped to receive after this was over.

When he braced himself for another lash, a creak pierced through the taut air of the church. It wasn’t coming from his own body. He felt his muscles tense. There was a beam of light peeking from behind him, through the open doorway. It blinded him for a second, hoped that this was some sort of sign.

“Shane…?”

Shane knew that voice. The same voice that mesmerised him, the same voice that made him feel at home. Unmistakable. He felt at ease a little. He didn’t think he should have felt at ease. The muscles let go of some tension when Shane didn’t really want them to.

“Nicky?” he called back.

Nicky broke into a quick sprint and kneeled down with Shane’s back faced towards him. Tears messing up his vision, Nicky hoped that he was hallucinating. He wanted to vomit. A vulnerable back that showed more red than skin. Narrow shoulders hunched, a shameful head hung low. The smell of blood making his nose twitch. The red stains on the whip in Shane’s hand, those knuckles washed white and about to pop out soon.

“Shane, you…” Nicky didn’t even know what to say. What _could_ he say to this? He thought mortification of the flesh was a ritual that was ruled out ages ago. Apparently not, in some places. It may as well have been he himself under the whip and it wouldn’t hurt this bad. Knowing that he was the reason why Shane was acting like this, knowing that he was the one behind Shane’s hellish turmoil. He’d rather be whipped than deal with the thought alone.

Shane couldn’t dare to turn around and look at the man. He didn’t want to look into eyes that held the power to make him weaker.

“Shane,” Nicky tried again. With caution, he reached out to wrap his fingers around Shane’s hand, felt it flinch against his palm. “Stop this,” he whispered and tried to pry open Shane’s clench around the handle of the whip. Shane didn’t budge.

“Let me…” Shane tried to break free of Nicky’s grip. Tried to tug the whip out again so he could strike himself and get rid of these impetuous urges.

“No,” the tearful voice replied. Nicky hung on with his life. “Please stop. Please, just… stop. Can you turn around and look at me?”

That was the last thing Shane wanted to do. He couldn’t risk it. “Nicky, you shouldn’t be here. Just go home.”

“No,” he repeated, “I tried to call you. For like, hours, and you didn’t pick up. You had me worried sick, you know that?” Sniffles got in the way of Nicky speaking but he soldiered through. “Then I went to your house and the lights were off. So I came here. And you’re just fucking…” He heaved a sob. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

A part of Shane told himself to turn around. Turn around, for fuck sake, and face the man.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you’d react like… this.” Nicky ran his eyes over Shane’s back again. It didn’t look like human flesh anymore. He tried to swallow his tears back down, which didn’t help at all. “I’ll do anything you ask. Anything. Okay? So stop. I’ll disappear if you want me to. If… if you need me to move churches, or houses, or whatever, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I promise. Just don’t do this to yourself.”

Shane’s shoulders were hitching, the strained hand coming up to cork his mouth in a futile attempt to muffle his sobs. Nicky felt that rip his heart in two.

“Can you please look at me?”

Shane shook his head.

“Then can I come around and look at you?”

Nicky waited for an answer. Eventually, he received a small nod.

Shuffling around, with every little inch of Shane’s face coming into his sight, Nicky couldn’t stop crying. The pain on that face he loved, the reddened leaking eyes, trembling lips showing traces of blood from biting down, and the way Shane just wouldn’t _look_ at him.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Shane seemed like he was about to run off any second. Fingers tense and rolling into his palm during a long silence, until he let go of a sigh from the pit of his stomach and opened his hand for the man.

Nicky didn’t hesitate. As soon as he saw Shane reach out a bit, he grabbed on, felt fingers squeeze back and felt a wall being broken down.

“It hurts,” Shane whimpered with a low voice, the throbbing bone-deep pain on his back hitting him at once now that he screwed his head back on.

“I know.” Nicky nodded, had been trying to ignore the reek of blood attacking his nose all this time. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Just… Can I hug you?” Nicky allowed himself a small smile of relief.

“Of course, love.” Shane shuffled forward with caution and dug his face in Nicky’s broad shoulder. Earned a kiss on his ear that bloomed a flower in Shane’s heart and felt a hand rake his hair.

“I don’t know what to do... Tell me what to do.”

The fear and trepidation in Shane’s voice was almost too much. Nicky took a deep breath and tried to suck some air back into his lungs.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up first. Then we can… talk. About us. About this.”

Shane nodded, needed another moment in Nicky’s arms before he could deal with all of that.


End file.
